Grey Seraphim
by Tassie Taker
Summary: Do not fear. I am no demon here to bargain for your soul. I am no angel here to lead you along some divine path. I am both, as I am neither. I am the Grey Seraphim, The Undertaker. - Angel v Demons type story, hopefully with my own twist. (M rating is for safety.) HIATUS (because Taker-Muse hates me)
1. Mortals End

_**The WWE is the rightful owner of the characters used here in, and each wrestler mentioned are the owners of their own names.**__** Any original characters are created by Tassie Taker.**_

_A/N: So, its been three years since my 'Taker muse made itself known, and this is the result. There are similar fics like this on FFnet, but I hope to give the story my own twist. _

_And just a bit of warning - please do read this, but keep in mind that out of all my muses, 'Taker-Muse is by far the most illusive (these days) and doesnt pop up often. I hope to finish it, but that will be all up to the whims of my muses. _

* * *

Dark clouds covered the sky, making the afternoon seem more like early evening, and even though the sun was firmly hidden behind the thick cloud, it was swelteringly hot, ripples of heat visible on the sidewalks and roads. The heat had come on so suddenly, people scrambled around, eager to get somewhere cooler. With each passing moment, a young, tall and muscular man was becoming more and more agitated. It was supposed to be his one day off, the first day he had been given for months. He was supposed to be at home, nestled in air-conditioned comfort, a beer in one hand and a good book in the other. Yet, here he was, forcing his way through the stifling streets, having to park a good block away from his workplace, his body donned in black leather, protection for if he fell from his expensive Harley Davidson Motorcycle. As he entered the large sliding glass doors of a high-class club, he had been ready for the grateful blast of cool air, but what hit him was an unnerving icy wind, as if the whole marbled room should have been covered in snow and ice.

"_Why can't they fix it!?"_

A frustrated male voice came from the direction of the white marble desk, a young woman sat behind it, her hair put back in a neat bun, dressed in a well-made suit; she looked quite cold and quite distressed.

"I'm sorry sir; he says nothing is wrong with the air-conditioning."

"_Bullshit! Call another repairman."_

"Sir, I…"

"_Do it! And when that good for nothing body guard of mine gets here send him to my office!"_

She glanced up at him, a scared look in her eyes as she looked at his handsome but intimidating face.

"He – he just arrived sir."

If there had been a reply, he didn't hear, as he was already taking large strides down the carpeted hallways, eager to get whatever this job was over and done with so he could get back to his, supposedly, relaxing day off.

He knew his mere presence made the other body guards under his bosses employ uncomfortable. He was almost seven feet tall, tattoos covered his large arms completely, some tracing up his neck. None of them had ever looked him in the eye, nor had his employer, who sat behind a large red-wood desk, wringing his hands together, a look of fear and dread plastered on his face.

"Mark, please…"

He gestured behind him; to the normal spot he would have his most intimidating body guard. Often he didn't even ask for him at all, only on "special" occasions, where the self-made crime boss would need that extra "incentive". Mark took two long strides across the room, behind the desk and lent up causally against the wall.

"_Sir… your – uh – appointment is here"_

The temperature in the room slowly became odd, a mingle of hot and cold that interacted but avoided each other at the same time. The distress of the man before him was becoming ever more apparent as the heat became hotter. The door slammed opened and small group of well-dressed men stepped through, seemly unaffected by the strange weather conditions of the room. One man was flanked around by the rest, and while he didn't look strange, Mark found him threatening and intimidating. He was shorter than his companions, black hair slicked back, but a few bits still framed his handsome face, that was rounded, making him look slightly chubby. His eyes were a dark brown that seemed like an endless black.

"I thought I requested that you be alone. No matter, we can deal with these hanger on's."

It all happened far too quickly for any of them to realise, the quick bangs of concealed handguns echoing around the room. A deep scream filled Mark's ears as he felt something hot burning though him, the force of the projectile pushing him backwards into the wall, slamming his head as he slowly slid downwards, this was it, his end.

Death looked not has he had envisioned, he was tall, and carried a scythe, yes, however there was no long dark robe, nor a hood covering his face, while the clothing he wore was black, it was almost modern, loose-fitting black pants, a muscle tank top covering his well-built chest, but a long black leather trench coat overed the rest of his pale body. His face was covered by a simple black fedora hat.

"_I am not death, mortal. Nor will you die this day."_

If he had of been asked, he doubted he could have told anyone what this man had sounded like, if he had said anything at all. He lowered his scythe, a purple light covering it as he did so, as it shifted and changed into a long, impressive looking sword, which the man preceded to sheath in an elaborate scabbard that sat on his hip. He lifted his head slightly, revealing pure, white eyes that glowed slightly.

"_However, you will no longer be a mortal man after this day."_

Mark wanted to scream, but his mouth did not open and no sound came from his dying lungs. The man that had been before him was gone, leaving a trail of white smoke that was somehow forcing its way through the bullet wound in his chest, following the path of death that the projectile had caused, before reaching his heart. The shot, Mark realised, had been a good one. His eyes closed tight, as if someone had grabbed his heart with their own hand, and were squeezing it. He wanted to yell out once more, his mouth wrenched open, instead of a noise escaping him, the remaining mist that had yet to enter though his wound rushed in at the opportunity, and made his whole body tingle.

"_Stop struggling, you'll only make it worse for yourself."_

Another voice, his own but somehow not, deeper, darker, as if someone else was inside his body with him.

"_The more you struggle mortal, the more your mind slips from sanity, calm yourself!"_

He wasn't sure how he could be calm, was this Hells eternal punishment? To be constantly tortured this way? No, that couldn't be right, if he was in Hell, how could he still hear, all be it far in the distance, the voices of the people that had been in the office with him, the pleading voice of his employer begging the man that had entered for something. If he could hear that, surely he wasn't dead; this was just all some pain induced hallucination. No, he knew deep down that whatever was happening to him now, when he should be dead on the floor, was not a hallucination. Someone, _something_, was doing something to him, stopping the bleeding from his heart, closing the wound in his chest. The same something had appeared before him dressed in black, the same something that was that voice inside him.

"_Do not fear. I am no demon here to bargain for your soul. I am no angel here to lead you along some divine path. I am both, as I am neither. I am the Grey __Seraphim, The Undertaker."_


	2. Grey

_A/N: Right, this wasn't originally the next part I set out to create, this whole event was supposed to happen somewhere else, but it just didnt seem to work, everything just seemed to be to confusing and wasnt following right. I wasnt even going to add exposition in at this part, just let everyone stumble around in the dark for awhile. But it seemed fitting to add it here. _

_Also, watch out for the text wall. FFnet just doesnt seem to want to let me format. _

* * *

_"I have been watching you for some time. You are an interesting mortal, so close to not quite being so that I was drawn to you. The third Seraphim war is upon us, the mortal plain is always the battle field. Your kind are either forced to fight, or be the hosts of Angels and Demons alike. _

_I am not like them; I do not just meld with any mortal that I can attain. You have been so tightly bound to those around the supernatural; you have dealt and seen things that would drive others to Death's arms quicker than intended. Under this employ you have done things that would cause others of your kind to quake with fear. For the things you shall see now, Mark Calaway, you will need those experiences to guide you through the darkness. _

_The time has come for me to enter this war. This war that is not needed. I intend to insure it does not continue much longer."_

Air rushed into his lungs, his pumping blood rushed around his ears, feeling flooded into his body, and was sharper than what it had ever been before. His eyes shot open, his world was filled with an impenetrable dark, he was constrained and it was hard to move, as if someone had squeezed him into this space. He ran his fingers along the side of his containment; it was smooth, silk, hiding hard steel underneath, a pillow made from the same material sat under his head. He reached upwards, his hands finding a padded lid, made from the same silk.

"A coffin…"

The voice that left his mouth was the same as what had echoed around his very being what felt like moments before. The voice did not speak now, but he knew that he was still there, in the wells of the back of his mind, a shadow behind each of his movements, another viewer from his eyes. He pushed on the lid above him, but it did not budge. This coffin, with him inside, had already been buried. Fear should have flowed through him, like an unstoppable flood, but it did not; fear seemed a foolish thing now. Everything he had felt, experienced before, seemed foolish, this spirit had, somehow, taken away these human feelings, the things that made him mortal. But that is what he had said, wasn't it? That he would no longer be mortal. Then, what was he?

_"The term mortals would use would be Undead."_

The voice had not startled him as he might have expected.

"And, what would you call it?"

_"I do not believe I have a term for this. 'Undead' may be fitting, as, not a few moments ago; this body we inhabit was, indeed, dead… and it is no longer. The simplest term, perhaps, would be host._"

Host, Undead, neither seemed appealing, Undead just had more theatrics. He pushed on the lid of the coffin once more; the cramped filling of being placed in one that was far too small for him was starting to become uncomfortable.

_"Relax, right now, there is no hurry. Now would be the perfect time for you to ask questions."_

He pulled his hands away from the lid slowly; it was true he did have questions.

"What are you exactly?"

_"I have told you, I am the Grey Seraphim, the only one of my kind."_

"I don't know what a Grey Seraphim is…"

_"Truly? – It should not surprise me so that what I am has been left out of what you know of the Seraphim kind. Loosely put, 'Angels' and 'Demons' are the same kind, Angelic Seraphim, the original race, messengers and servants of the Divine. Chaotic Seraphim are those who followed Lucifer from Heaven and created Hell, corrupted by sin. It has not been uncommon, for Angels and Demons alike to come down to the mortal plain and mate with the mortals here. Half-Breeds, there have been many across history, or so I believe. What is rare, however, is for an Angel to mate with a Demon. Such a thing, forbidden by both realms was never supposed to happen. Until me. _

_My father is a high ranking Demon, answers to the Dark One himself. My mother, was an assistant to Metatron, the Guardian. They kept my birth a secret, as best they could, when I was discovered I was taken to Heaven and, under heavy guard, was trained to fight under Chamuel's forces, for the eventual third war. Not long after, I received a _gift_ from my father, a sword, capable of using the corruption within me for battle, along with changing its shape to better suit its needed purpose. Swords, such as these, are often only used for once purpose, to kill those of the Divine. The cast me out, they would not dare send me as far as Hell, knowing the knowledge I could pass on so they bound me here, to the mortal plain. My mother… she was devastated, and came to me."_

The pause in the story was almost painful, like what happened next was hard for him to recall;

_"I begged her not to do it… she removed my sword from its scabbard and impaled herself upon it. Transferring her Divine energy into it, melding with the corruption inside it, she achieved what she wished to, allowing the sword to kill all those of the Seraphim. With her last moments, she requested of me one thing, to insure that a third war never came to pass. For what it was worth, the mortals were happy, peace did not rule but neither did chaos, for she believed it was all about balance._

_I have never before melded with a mortal, and I do not know what will come of this union. I do know that when my mission is complete I will have to leave your body, but I do not know what will become of you. I have thrust you into this world without your consent, and this was not my intention. But if I had not have done so as you died, your body would now be the shell of some minor demon, to be used as cannon fodder. The lesser demon that had appeared before you, had he of noticed your potential, would have taken you captive and offered you to his Lord. Know also, that now that this war is preparing to begin, both sides will be eager to gain my allegiance, I am, no pun intended, the double edged sword."_

He lay in the darkness for quite some time, his body becoming numb to the pain that his tight space had caused. Attempting to wrap his head around the information he had just been given. He had never been a religious man; the thought of such a world outside the one he saw day to day was saddening as it was overwhelming. His mind drifted to a distant and locked up memory, one from his childhood, the scars still evident on his mind. He had no trouble now believing there was a world beyond what a mortal would see every day; so where the other stories also true, about what happened to those after death?

_"I cannot answer this question. It is one that all must find out for themselves."_

"What happens now?"

_"Now? Perhaps removing oneself from this grave would be most urgent."_

"That's not what I meant, I mean, what happens now, you're inside me, I'm some kind of zombie. You said you had to stop this war, how would you even do that?"

_"As of now, there is no you and I, we are the same being. I will guide your hand as much as you guide mine..."_

"You don't know, do you?"

_"Just get out of the damn grave."_


	3. Immortals and Monsters

Climbing out of a grave was over dramatized, by the time he had been able to push open the lid of the coffin he had gained a mouth full of soil, and felt downward pressure that should easily crushed his bones but all it seemed to do was slow him down more, wriggling inches at a time at an attempt to reach the surface, the earth around him somehow understanding his want and moving ever so slightly away from him, as if moving of its own will. When he did reach the surface, his hand did not shoot out like a horror movie monsters would have, instead he groped at the freshly turned soil, looking for something to grip onto. When he found nothing he brought his hand back under the ground, using it to help him push away the rest of the dirt, until his head peaked out of the ground, like some kind of odd flower, followed by his shoulders and arms, and, with one great push down he removed himself from the grave. Standing to his full height his eyes lingered on the solid stone gravestone that sat at the head of the grave. Under the starlight he could just see his name chiseled into the stone, no, it wasn't his name anymore. He moved slowly away from the grave and walked quietly though the other graves that sat around his own, the fine suit that he had been buried in melting away into the darkness, being replaced by the black leather trench coat that the specter that had appeared before him had worn, the black fedora metalizing over what had been dark red hair that was slowly being stained by darkness. He did not flinch as something heavy on his hip stumbled his step slightly, the ornate scabbard of the Undertakers weapon shining under the moonlight. This, _transformation_, was complete; the two personalities, two _souls,_ which had inhabited this body, had merged into one, the ethereal spirit of the Grey Seraphim was no longer, he was not a living, breathing entity on the mortal plain, and this shifting would not go unnoticed by the two factions that sought him out as their ally.

He walked slowly passed the young man that stood next to him, a gun shakily pointed at the large man in black. Glaring at him for only a moment as he passed, a challenge resonating from what had once been clear green eyes, replaced by the swirling darkness that resided in the seraphim.

"What…" The man's voice was barely above a whisper "What are you?"

"I am the reaper of men, the chaser of souls, and the weaver of nightmares. I am the watcher of men, the protector of souls, and the keeper of dreams. I am the Undertaker, and the battle for this world has just begun."

-GS-

The pain was almost unbearable, but no, he thrived on pain, it was his salvation as much as it was his punishment. The fires that burnt around him were supposedly under his control, meant to bow to his every whim, but as he stood before this much smaller man, the flames licked at his arms and legs, reopening old wounds, caused by the same source.

"You will join us, Half-Blood. You cannot dare to even think to challenge me."

The man laughed, and the laugh echoed around his ears, causing more pain than the fire, bellowing up that ever dormant rage inside him, with a growl like scream he pushed outwards, and the flames did as he commanded, pushing away from his body as if the flames themselves had been burnt, the shock of the young man come demon was plastered all over his face and had not a moment to attempt to flee as the fires he had himself conjured engulfed him, more powerful than he had ever been able to conjure, burning the mortal body he had commandeered through, the force pushing him from the body, and, with no others to inhabit, back to the depths he had come from. When his opponent was satisfied that the body had been burnt to ashes, and the ashes themselves burnt away was when he extinguished the flame with but a wave of his large, gloved hand, the quickly moving both hands up to his gloved face, checking to see if it too had been burnt away like his clothing had been, a sigh of relief coming from his nose as he felt none of his deformed skin that hid under the cooling fake leather mask. He had not seen his own face since that fateful night he had woken in the children's ward of a small hospital, his whole body ached and was covered in bandages coated with some cool but sticky substance, his face too, had been covered, leaving only holes for his eyes, nose and mouth. He knew that there was more wrong that just being covered in these bandages and awakening in hospital, his vision was blurred and as he closed just his right eye, he could see nothing at all. In a panic he ripped the bandages from his body, but upon seeing his own reflection in the surgical steel that surrounded him he screamed at what he saw, causing most of the doctors and nurses that patrolled the ward to rush into the room, seeing him curled in a corner as far from the reflections he could find, his body, no matter how much it pained him, curled into the fetal position.  
"Keep away from me! I'm a monster!"

He smiled at what he had said in his memory as a child; he was, indeed, a monster.

* * *

_A/N: That was actually a lot harder to do than I thought it would be. 'Taker-Muse would not shut up last night, "he" kept me awake until about 2:30am bugging about me writing again, it was a pain, cos, you know, a fangirl needs her sleep. Oh, and look, Kane!_

_As for what I had 'taker said, I wanted to have something that he had said before but nothing really quite worked for what I needed, so I added a bit on. _


	4. The Shift

As he strode through the streets he paid no mind to the looks of anxiety and fear on the people he walked passed, the innate sense that all beings possessed telling them that he was to be feared as much as he could be trusted. As he looked upon the expensive looking building his hand moved to the left side of his chest in reflex, an odd stinging resonating there, his lip curled into a snarl as he scolded himself for such weakness. The marble foyer was filled with business men and work men alike, in loud and repeated talks about what the process would be if they were to acquire this prime piece of real-estate, and the whisperings about the mass murder that had happened here. He paid them no mind as he continued to stride down the foyer, his mind set on his goal.

"Excuse me! Mr. Hayman isn't seeing anyone until – "

The receptionist gasp as he turned to face her, his green eyes looking at her as if he was piercing her very soul;

"- Oh my god…"

Her hands shook as she pressed the small button that opened the way to the back offices, not daring to question why a man she had seen wheeled out of that same door covered in a white sheet was now staring straight at her. He gave her the smallest of smirks as he heard the door click and pushed it open, slowly stepping inside, his black boots clicking on the wooden floor, echoing around the now empty hallway, opening in the large office door without even a knock.

"Damn it, I told her – Oh dear god!"

The smirk that had remained on his face from his encounter with the receptionist grew, sending a cold shiver down the much smaller man's spine.

"No… please tell me you're not one of them!"

He gave a deep chuckle, placing the man before him on edge even more so.

"No, I am not one of them."

"But… you're not Mark either…. Are you?"

"No, not any longer." He took two long strides across the room, placing his hands on the desk and leaning downwards; "I did not come here for small talk and a catch-up. Where are they?"

"I – I can't tell you that! Do you know what they will do to me?"

He laughed once more;

"It is _nothing_ compared to what _I_ can do to you."

The room burst into light as a large lightning bolt seemed to appear from thin air, striking the desk directly between his hands, cracking the expensive piece of wood into two.

"Tell me what I need to know, little man, and perhaps I shall spare your soul."

"I don't know! I don't know alright! I only ever met them here!" He yelled out as he saw lips curl into a snarl before him "Oh God! Please, I don't know! I swear!"  
In one fluid movement he was hoisted from the ground, being choked by a large gloved hand, that he groped at helplessly.

"I believe you."

But he did not release his hold; instead he placed his free hand on the hilt of his sword and pulled it effortlessly from the scabbard, causing his captives eyes to go wide with fear.

"Rest in Peace."

-GS-

"Can you feel it?"

The handsome sounding voice spoke out into the slightly filled room, his head had been down, looking at maps, charts and attack plans. His face obscured by a blue baseball cap. Muscled arms pushed extended by his hands that lay on the table, arms that seemed too small for the power they hid.

"Feel what?"

A handsome young man looked over at the larger man beside him; his hair bleached blonde and slicked back, revealing the darker roots below. He was dressed in loose fitting camo gear, as were most of the others in the room.

"There's been a shifting."

The room burst into discussion, a mingle of fear and an anticipation, but as the man in the baseball cap looked up, revealing dirty blonde hair that sat under his cap, and clear blue eyes and a boy next door type face.

"I know what you're all thinking. No, this is not some new arch-demon entering this plain, this is, something, _someone_, else."

"Someone else? One of yours?"

He shook his head;

"No, not one of mine. Not anymore."

The young man beside him ran his hand through the slicked back hair;

"Then…?"

"His existence has been a need to know basis, and it shall stay that way. For now, you are on the lookout for a man dressed in black, whom carries this weapon." He threw a picture of an ornate scabbard down on the table. "Do not engage him, he will have no problems with striking you down, what you need to do is convince him to come here."

* * *

_A/N: While I was writing this I was given the news by two of my bestest 'Taker Pals that the Deadman himself has wrestled at a house show in Texas making him likely to appear on RAW tomorrow... and with this news, 'Taker-Muse seems to up and left, bastard..._

_John Cena and Dolph Ziggler here, yay for an odd choice in character placement! Honestly, anyone else I felt I could have put here I had already places somewhere else, so it came down to a wrestler I liked, as a opposed to who might fit. It did make me laugh when the thought struck me however. _

_Hopefully 'Taker-Muse will pop up again and I can keep going. _


	5. The Game

"Are you sure this is the place?"

A tall, tanned, and well-built man looked beside him, his grey eyes meeting a man larger than he, looking down at the larger nose than the dark brown eyes that had started to unnerve him more than normal lately. In reply the brown eyed man ran this hand though wheat coloured blonde locks that were long enough to frame his face. Slowly he opened his mouth to reply but was cut short by the gaging noise of another that accompanied them, whom had been thrown several feet away from the group, crashing into the decaying wall of a warehouse nearby with just force that it started to crumble around him, causing whatever statement he might have been ready to say into a laugh;

"Damn sure."

The appearance of a man in black appearing before them was far too sudden, but even so, weapons were quickly held at the ready.

"Am I to assume, that you have been looking for me?"

The Undertaker glanced out from under his hat, which sat just still over his eyes as the black smoke that conjured him here still swirled around his body.

"Save the speech – We know who you are and we know what ever hell we're about to step into."

If the blonde man hadn't of stood down hundreds of his kind before, he might have faltered at the smirk that appeared on the pale lips before him.

"Oh, I don't doubt it. You've been removing seraphim from mortal bodies all across the state. A little bit of each of their power, transferred into your mortal soul."

"Hunter…"

The younger man beside him whispered into his ear, set on edge by this exchange, none of the angels or demons they had hunted for before had known these things, much less spoken to them more than the threat of what they were about to dive into. But Hunter simply waved off his younger companion.

"Starting to take notice?"

It was the laugh that did it, that finally caused Hunter to lower his trusty sledgehammer and stare at his would be opponent with his mouth agape as he caught a look at green eyes filled with darkness;

"No, they're not. I know that is your goal. You want the attention of the most senior of the Divine, in the hope you may save him."

Hunter let anger contort his face at the mere mention of the person he was doing this all for, the person he had watched in agony meld with one of those angels, changing his best friend completely.

"What you wish to achieve, Hunter Hearst Helmsley, what you are doing, may be futile."

"Enough! I don't know what kind of demon you are but I'm done with these games!"

He raised his weapon in a fighting position once more, but the enemy before him still made no move more than the long trench coat waving in the wind.

"If you wish to fight me, I'll be more than happy to oblige, but nothing will come of it."

Hunter grit his teeth; "We'll see."

-GS-

The fight was harder than he had first assessed; the information that he had been given by one of the few people he had on the lookout out for anyone strange had made him come to the conclusion that the man dressed in black that resided around this abandoned warehouse district was no more than some minor demon, the kinds of which he had taken down without much effort, but as the battle raged on, he found that whatever this being was, was far from anything minor. The fight had started with a flash of lighting, splaying out most of the group that followed him here, the only ones that had remained standing, all be it, startled, were those, like he, whom had killed an angel or demon. Then, almost blindsiding him came his opponent, hat and coat removed, allowing for more free moment in just the muscle top and pants, green eyes alight with a fire he had never seen before, barely lifting his sledgehammer time to deflect the sword that had been swiping down at him. Then, seemingly without breaking a sweat he was taking on himself and two others with ease.

"What the fuck are you?!"

Hunter glanced up from where he had been pushed backwards from the sheer force of another strike from the ornate sword, his gut churning as he saw that the man he had been fighting eyes had turned pure white.

"I'm a dangerous enemy to have, mortal." The white slowly started to fade away, revealing the green underneath; "And I do not wish to be yours."

"I am no ally to demons… or angels."

"Then it is good that I am neither."

Finally his arms gave way, and the hammer fell to the ground with a thud.

"What?"

Slowly the undertaker sheathed his sword back in the scabbard.

"I am your greatest ally in his war. You wish to see it end? As do I. I am what both the Divine and the Corrupted fear… and as for your friend, I possess the only thing that can allow his soul to remain unharmed for when the arch angel leaves his body."


End file.
